


matutinum post VosTubam

by Imperial_Dragon



Series: Imperial Earth [2]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: 2770 ab urbe condita, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16091750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperial_Dragon/pseuds/Imperial_Dragon
Summary: After a lovely morning constitutional Valentine visits the victims of last night's attack, now in the Imperial Hospital. He spends more money than he intended.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mossgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/gifts).



> Inspired by [2771 ab urbe condita ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059413) by [Mossgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen)
> 
> Thanks to [macqy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy) for the excellent beta. Much appreciated!
> 
> I totally stole some Latin words and translations from Mossgreen. Others are my very own translations and my very rusty Latin is creaking under the strain. All errors are my responsibility and I would be grateful for any corrections, as well as comments and kudos!

Once Val let in the flood of people he let it wash him away to his hospital visit. He sent Damian the page off to get his fourth semiformal tunic, then back to get the third tunic, the green one with the little bit of imperial purple embroidery on the hems. That should supply some gravitas for the meeting with people unhappy with the imperial family. Damian brought the matching green and gold silk rope with the heavy chased gold bauble. That looked good; with his usual secretarial satchel Val knew he looked professional and grand enough to be effective.

Gaius just slipped into a domestic tunic, spouting orders as he got ready. “Iason, make sure Tito and Susan attend the meeting. I have some ideas of how to deal with this but I’d like to hear what they have to say.”

Val blew a kiss as he left for the hospital and Gaius gave a distracted wave goodbye. The meeting was bound to be emotional. Uncle Marcus was not going to be happy about selling his daughter Poppy, nor would Aunt Gaia want to sell Julianus, although she was in Constantinople supervising the recovery after the great earthquake and so would be attending via Kerne Secure. Someone was bound to burst into tears and Val felt only slightly guilty about leaving Gaius to it.

In the garage Val turned down the offer to take the wheel and drive to the hospital, although he needed to get his driving hours up. Getting a driving licence and being allowed to drive legally was something to look forward to when he was freed.

“The paparazzi will be stalking the imperial household,” he said, “and I want to think anyway.”

The freedman chauffeur shrugged and took the wheel while Val slid into the back, protected from the press and public by the tinted windows. 

Val didn’t think about the people he was going to meet at the hospital. He thought about the Phallusy videos instead. It was obvious that Ven didn’t like his job, that was part of the whole point, but Val wondered just how distressed he was. SIPAS had nothing bad to say about DVM and their confidential reports maintained that Ven was in good mental and emotional health but he would like to see for himself.

He’d have to suggest that Ven was included in any meeting with DVM.

But there was something about the video itself; one of those niggles in the brain and it took most of the short way to the hospital to work it out (with the video running on his _tabulae_ ). DVM said: “However, it looks and sounds worse than it feels.”

How did he know? _How_ did he know? Whatever way Val thought about this it drew him to think about DVM in new ways. Unspecified new ways that he wasn’t going to think about. For a moment Val’s fingers hovered over his _tabulae_ to message Gaius, but he didn’t. He always shared his thoughts with his master. Always.

But this time he didn’t.

Val had just enough time to review the people he was going to meet before the car drew in to the secure underground garage of the imperial wing of the hospital. Everyone involved needing hospital care had been brought here as a security precaution. The bystanders had already been released after giving statements to the police and Imperial Security. None of the perpetrators had needed hospital care and now sat in ImpSec cells. That left the more severely injured. Two citizens, the plebeian with two slaves, and the lone young slave. The citizens first, Val decided, then the plebeian family, then the slave in what time he had left.

The first citizen he saw was the young man with a work and residence permit that was going to expire in two months, and he was worried about it.

“I can’t work, you see,” he said, gesturing as his badly bruised and swollen leg. “I’m an electrician and I won’t be able to get around the construction site for months. The firm will have to let me go, and without the permits I’ll have to leave Rome. Maybe sooner than the permits run out – I can’t afford the rent on the apartment.”

“Why do you live by yourself then?” Val asked. “You could share with others; it would be cheaper.”

“I intended – Well, there was this girl back at home in Tarraco, in Hispania,” he paused.

“And you were to make your fortune and send for her to live with you,” Val said. “So you wanted a home for her.”

The young man nodded. It was a sadly common story and the common ending was that the young man went home, sadder but hopefully wiser. Many young men forgot their dream of sending home for their sweetheart; it seemed this young man hadn’t.

“And what has your patron done?” Val watched the man blush and look down.

“Don’t have one,” he muttered. “My patron at home gave me a letter of introduction to someone here but they wouldn’t see me and I haven’t had time to search for anyone else.”

Val sighed. This young man from Hispania, named Hadrianus of course, was hardworking according to all the files he had, but shy and romantic: all the worst qualities for success in Rome. How sad that the best thing that had happened to him was a beating by some upper class thugs.

“I can see that you need just a little help, sir,” Val said diplomatically. “The imperial family are keen that you do not suffer through the actions of one of the family, and in particular my master has sent me to help.”

“Your master?” Hadrianus asked, looking up at Val.

“My master, the Serene Emperor.” Val had introduced himself on entry but the surprise on Hadrianus’s face showed that he hadn’t been listening.

“You don’t look like a slave,” Hadrianus said, then blushed again.

“No, sir,” Val said politely. “Here’s what we’ll do.” And slave or not, he was giving the orders. “I’ll assign you a liaison person from my staff. We’ll get you home, out of the hospital, and you’ll need a slave to look after you – we will organize that. And the permits. We’ll have a word with your employer – no, first you’ll need a suitable patron. I’ll make a note for my people. That should take care of any employment issues. In view of your inconvenience I think a contribution to your fiance's travel fund would be appropriate.”

Hadrianus was staring open mouthed. “A patron? Your master?”

“Oh, no, sir.” Val smiled gently; he didn’t want Hadrianus to feel condescended to, even if he was. “He’d be totally useless to you. Someone suitable will be found.”

Damn, he hadn’t brought anyone from the office with him. He would have to send for someone – several someones by the time he was done, he suspected.

“So what would you like me to say at the trial?” Hadrianus asked slowly. “The bruises don’t look like they came from a fall but-”

“Oh no, no, no,” Val said. He couldn’t blame Hadrianus for his assumption of why he was getting all this help. “No lies. Just say exactly what happened, as you did for the police and the other people who interviewed you, without exaggerating or minimizing what happened. And don’t worry about the trial; you’ll have support for that. You may have to wait here for a while so I’ll send for a cup of tea.”

Hadrianus looked puzzled, then shrugged. “Well, thank you, is all I can say. Thank you very much.”

He held out his hand for Val to shake, which Val did. It wasn’t proper slave etiquette but it was better to treat people as they chose without argument.

“I need to visit the other injured so I’ll take my leave now,” Val said. He turned at the door. “You didn’t say why you were there, in the theatre district, at night. I don’t think it will come up in court, but just in case, perhaps you could tell me – in confidence, of course.”

Hadrianus blushed again. “It’s been a while for me, company, you know, and someone told me that was the place to go, um, because it was cheaper.”

He probably felt that he was betraying his girlfriend back home with a visit to a prostitute. But he shouldn’t visit the street walkers; it was too dangerous. 

“Don’t go back there; we’ll make other arrangements.” Val made a note to alert his staff to give Hadrianus a pass to the imperial brothels.

“Sir, the kid,” Hadrianus said. “I don’t think he should be there either. He’s too young. I didn’t like it.”

“Thanks for telling me. _Vale!_ ”

Great. More trouble. Val decided to go on to the other citizen and see what needed doing for him. But he was lying on his bed hooked up to tubes and sensors, motionless. A hospital slave aide was with him, reading a book of anatomy.

“The doctors say he’ll be all right, sir,” the aide said. “He’s under sedation for the head injury but they think he’ll recover. But it _is_ a head injury.”

Valentine stood beside the bed looking down. This man was young, probably only twenty if that, not really pretty but at night he could pass as attractive enough, especially when the swelling of his face settled down. Scrawny, dirty hair, the remains of his tunic by the bed showed that it had not been cleaned for some time. He picked up the medical notes (the slave aide twitched as if to stop him) and noted that the man had had anal and oral sex the night of the fight.

His police record wasn’t good, although by no means as violent as some of last night’s upper class assailants. A few fights, picked up for questioning on suspicion of burglary, shop lifting, street prostitution, on the dole since he was eligible, no patron – it looked like this kid was headed for slavery too. And not a moment too soon. He needed a firm hand.

“How long will he be out?” Val asked.

“Sorry, I don’t know, sir,” the aide answered. “I’m just here to mind him, and I need to do some revision.”

This slave was taking advantage of any opportunity he had to better himself. He’d do well. 

Val made a note to assign one of his assistants to this injured young man too. A least he didn’t have to convince the kid to sell himself; that was his assistant’s job.

“ _Vale_ ,” Val said to the aide (no need to be rude to a fellow slave) and moved on to the plebeian family.

This room contained an old man propped up in bed breathing shallowly with a cast on his arm, an old woman sitting beside him holding his hand with her wrist bandaged, a young man in his mid-twenties sitting by her and a pacing middle aged man. They were all dressed similarly, although the older couple had no decoration on their tunics. According to the police records they were a father and son and their two elderly slaves.

“ _Ave!_ ” Valentine said brightly, genuflecting to the probable _paterfamilias_. “My name is Valentine. I am one of the slaves of the Serene Emperor, and I’m here to help.”

First he had to hear a tirade on the youth of the city, which he largely agreed with, so he just made soothing noises.

“What’s Rome coming to if a man can’t treat his slaves to a visit to the theatre for fear of attack! Attack by the so called best and brightest! On my family!” The rotund _paterfamilias_ strutted angrily around the room, face red around the purpling bruise on his cheek.

“Sit down, Father!” the son urged. “You’re upsetting Mum and Dad.”

A quick look showed Val that indeed the son resembled the two slaves more than he did the father. Manumission by adoption, then, not unusual for citizens or plebians. There were clear bonds of affection in this family too; the father stopped ranting and Val heard the story of the attack.

Fabianus and his two elderly slaves left the theatre after the performance - “ _Up Pompeii! The musical_ ,” said the old woman shyly. “It was really good.” – and were crossing the plaza to the cycleshaws, to catch a ride before the night delivery vehicles made the city roads impassable. When they were right in the middle a flood of drunk youngsters swarmed up from the Tibur.

“The rikshaws and cycleshaws buzzed off straight away – they knew what was going to happen,” Fabianus said bitterly. “And there were more than fifteen of them. They were heading for the dark corner, howling and carrying on about getting a free fuck, and just ran over us. Piso was knocked down and Servilla and I tried to drag him away and next minute I’m in a punch up with some aristocratic little punk and getting pushed away from my slaves. There was fighting between the prostitutes and the thugs, I saw one young man giving them hell before he got knocked down, then I heard screaming from my slaves. They were getting a kicking, and this young _scortum_ , who had been trying to run off, threw himself over Servilla. The police were there but didn’t do much, until the _cohortes urbanae_ took over. They took no nonsense.”

“I wish I’d been there,” the young man muttered. “I’d have shown them what for.”

“Best you weren’t, Pisuncula,” Servilla said. “You’d have fought, and got beaten badly for your trouble. I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

Pisunclua nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “What now?” he asked Val.

“You’ll get to tell your tale in court,” Val said. “The trial is being expedited so could be as soon as tomorrow, or the next day. Will Piso be up to testifying?”

Servilla looked anxious. “Will the court beat us? I heard that they do that – Piso couldn’t take that.”

“That old story,” Val said. “No. The court will put a whip up on the stand during your testimony to show that you are a slave but it is not used any more. It doesn’t help get at the truth so they gave torture up years ago. It doesn’t really matter if Piso can’t testify, although it would be good if he could attend the trial, in a wheelchair. Good court theatre, better than what you got at the Vitruvian Theatre.”

“Liars lie, cheaters cheat, and the honest man gets screwed,” Fabianus muttered. "It's an old story."

“Not in this case. Just tell us what happened, as you remember it. There is no need to worry about the outcome of the trial.” Because that was already fixed but there was no need to go into that. “Now tell me what I can do for you. Is there anyone you would like to support you at court? Other children, or a brother perhaps?”

Val got the story of the family. Fabianus had a natural son, now a civil engineer in Aegyptus, but he was moving to Caesarea so he probably couldn’t get there in time. The son had not been interested in taking over Fabianus’s cycle repair and retail shop but his slave boy was, so Fabianus freed him by adoption.

“Losing his _pecūlium_ wasn’t too much of an issue for me,” Fabianus said modestly. “Now I can pass the business on to him. He’s already doing a great job. Though paying for this private room might be a stretch for the cash flow.”

Val hastily reassured him that the room was paid for by the imperial family and wondered what he could offer. He thought that offering too much money might destabilize the balance between natural and adopted son. Their patron was all right, but any business could do with more support. He made a note.

“Someone from my staff will be along soon,” he said. “They’ll help you with an introduction to some useful contacts. How about some tickets to the Games? A season ticket, let’s say for ten, both the Sporting and Gladiatorial Games and endorsed to allow slaves to sit with you. Are there any other people in the household?”

There were two more slaves at home, a young woman and a boy of twelve.

“I think you might need some more help around the house so we’ll send a slave over. I think that’s pretty much it.” Val looked the family over. They seemed pretty satisfied, except for Piso who was still doped up from painkillers for his broken ribs and arm. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, you’ve been most generous – I mean, your master has been generous,” Fabianus said, then looked hesitant. “Just, the slave boy who jumped on Servilla to protect her. He’s too young for the streets in my opinion. I thought slaves had to be twenty to work the streets and he’s not anywhere near twenty. If his master wants him to be a _scortum_ he ought to be in a proper brothel or at home. It’s not right, a kid like that flipping his tunic for the punters with no one to look after him. And he tried to help us. I don’t know what you can do for him though.”

“I don’t know either,” Val said, “but thank you for alerting me to the issue. We’ll be in touch.”

He bowed and left. A lovely family, exactly what the Empire needed more of. He could hear a raised voice from a door left ajar down the hall – the room of the young prostitute. Val stationed himself outside and listened in to what sounded like a tirade from the boy’s master.

“You stupid little _catamīte_ , you should have run off the moment you saw those shits coming. And to fucking throw yourself on that old bitch of a slave – it was you, I know it – you should be taking better care of my property. You tore your tunic, and lost the purse and any money you earned. You’ll need to pay all that back before anything goes into your _pecūlium_. Every _quadrans_. Before you fucking get anything in my house.”

At the sound of a hand hitting flesh Val decided he had heard enough, knocked on the door and pushed it open simultaneously. He saw what he expected: a boy cowering on the bed with a man, hand drawn back, threatening him. Poor kid. Val suppressed a sigh; he knew that all he could do to help was to buy the slave.

“ _Ave!_ ” Val said, with extra cheeriness, and bowed obsequiously low. “My name is Valentine and I am a humble slave of the most Serene Emperor Gaius Vitruvius Mellitus Caesar Augustus, and I’m here to help.”

At times like this Val was glad for the rigorous training that enabled him to smile convincingly, no matter what. The boy was nearly in tears, his lips moving in a silent, automatic “Sorry, master, sorry, master.”

The man hovering over the slave boy sneered at Val before pushing the kid away and standing up straight.

“Am I going to get an explanation for being dragged away from my business this morning to get my fucking stupid boy, slave? I’d rather talk to your master and tell him to fuck off and give my property back.”

Men like this one seemed to think he was being metaphorical regarding his master being the Serene Emperor. Val thought that he would not really like to tell Gaius Vitruvius Mellitus Caesar Augustus anything of the kind.

“Your slave is needed as material evidence in a criminal case, sir,” Val said. “When the case comes up you might be able to claim for property damage too.”

That perked the fucker up, but only a bit.

“Won’t get much for this shit. He used to be a _puer dēlicātus_ but he’s a bit old now, a bit weathered. Still, he’s laid up and can’t work. I don’t want to be fucking around with the court for my money, I want it now.”

Oh, he didn’t like the court.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Val said with great sympathy. “You will have to attend the court when your slave gives evidence, to offer the support the law expects from a proper and attentive master. I’m sure it won’t take long though, not even two days.”

It was true that the slave’s master would have to be there but Val did not expect the trial to last more than three hours, well, four. It might take an hour to recite all the aristocratic names of the accused, but only five minutes for the magistrate to find them guilty. When Gaius was not happy, things got done fast. 

The master spat on the floor. “Shit on Jupiter’s prick! You can pay me for the damage now, I’ll take Syrianus, and you can pick him up for the trial when he’s needed. A fancy slave like you could authorize that surely.”

Valentine could authorize a lot more than that but he figured he didn’t have to. He might have to hurt the boy’s feelings but if he could get the kid away without prejudice to the court case it would be worth it.

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be acceptable to the court, sir,” Val said. “However, if I might be permitted to suggest a solution, we could buy the slave from you at a reasonable market rate with an allowance for damage to the rest of your property. If you were to certify that the boy was near the Vitruvian Theatre on your orders we can use his testimony in court and you would be saved from any further inconvenience. We would buy him with no questions asked, and none asked in the future.”

The slave was peeking up from under his lowered eye lashes. In another boy Val might think it was seductive but right now the kid just looked terrified.

It took a few moments for the master think it over and agree to sell his boy and immediately begin to inflate every cost and value. Val called up the Slave Bureau records (fortunately the master did not question Val’s easy access to this confidential database).

“If I may check, sir, you are Pompo Novelius Sosius?” Val looked at the flimsy synthetic silk rag that had been the boy’s tunic that Sosius waved in his face. “Sir, if you paid 100 _sestertius_ for that then you’ve been scammed and if you could give us the merchant’s name the _aediles_ could follow that up.”

Sosius glared but reduced the price to 10 _ses._ , still a rip off. The lost purse was 5 _ses._

“Sir, how much money had the boy made in the evening?” Val asked.

“Answer him, _cēvetor_.” His lovely master prodded the kid hard.

“60 _ses._ ,” Syrianus muttered.

“Is that all? Fuck, I don’t know why I keep you,” Sosius hissed. “That’s only two blowjobs.”

“Then isn’t it a good thing that I am about to buy him off you, sir!” Val said in his brightest tone. “That’s 75 _ses._ , plus what the kid himself is worth, which I agree can’t be much. I will need to examine him so may I trouble you to get him out of bed?”

Sosius jerked his head at Syrianus who slowly pushed the covers off his body and eased himself off the bed. He stood a little shakily and looked up at Valentine.

A pretty kid, Val decided, verging on beautiful but just a little too cute. Nice long dark hair with a bit of a wave; well shaped eyebrows arching over pretty green eyes now submissively lowered; a lovely mouth; slim figure with the promise of athleticism, perhaps the body of a dancer; what looked like a nice handful of a cock: all positives, but all negated by the poor care he’d had. The hair was ragged; the eyes flicked nervously from side to side; the mouth taut with anxiety and downturned sadly; the slim body not actually starving but definitely underfed; the dick shrivelled from fear and he obviously wanted to cover himself. 

And there were the fading imprints of old bruises: the ghosts of blows, some barely visible and others yellowed or still fading from red. Overlaid on this were the effects of last night’s beating, mainly the really deep purple of kicks to his legs and side, bruises on his face and a stitched cut on his upper lip, which might not scar if he was lucky.

Val flicked his fingers at Syrianus to turn and he shuffled around. His back was similar to his front, with the addition of a few old wheals from a cane.

“Bend over the bed, boy,” Val ordered. 

The master snorted but grunted something that sounded like assent. The boy bent over, legs apart, and pulled aside his cheeks with no obvious hesitation. Val only took a quick glance to see that although swollen and used his hole had no obvious fissuring.

“Up on the bed, kiddo.” Val contemplated him again. Syrianus had that fragile gazelle look of wide eyes and delicate bones, the whole boy toy, but he wasn’t in good condition. Val really didn’t want to give Sosius any more money than he had to, and he could see the greed start to fire up in the master’s eyes.

A quick look at the boy’s record showed that he was _verna_. He’d obviously been kept on the estate for the promise of his beauty, and sold aged nine to Ti. Roscius Bibulous, at twelve sold again to a plebeian with a history of buying boys starting puberty and at thirteen to Sosius. Each sale was for respectable sums of 13, 10 and 10 thousand _sestertius_. Val was sorry to have to lower the kid’s value but there was no way he was worth anything like that now.

“Still want to buy him?” Sosius asked. “I paid 10 thousand _ses._ for him. He’s not worth that now I know, he’s getting a bit old, but he’ll clean up all right. Good as new in a week! 8 thousand _ses._ and you’ll get your money’s worth from him.”

“8 thousand? You’ve got to be joking. He’s too thin for a start, and that lip is going to scar. And when was his latest STD test? The last one on record is nine months ago so that’s at least 2 thousand off his price. And what’s worrying me are the old bruises and the whip marks. You’ve had to discipline him severely and recently too. At fifteen going on sixteen that sort of behaviour problem is hard to correct. Sir.”

Syrianus looked up at Val and frowned, waving the finger that Sosius couldn’t see in negation. The kid would be worried he would never regain his value and be doomed to bottom tier markets from now on. Val ignored him; he’d reassure the kid later.

Sosius spluttered. “Well, well, it’s possible I may have been a little heavy handed, occasionally. He’s usually a good boy.”

“Now I’m worried that the boy’s disposition has been ruined by overcorrection, sir. In all fairness to the public purse I could not offer more than 1500 _ses._ and another 500 in compensation for the damage inflicted last night.”

“2000!” Sosius snarled. “Fuck you. I won’t sell him for that. I’ll send him to the trial and sell him for my price later.”

“Make sure you bring him yourself,” Val said. “If you don’t bring him you’ll be liable for a fine equivalent to his previous price, and you’ll be asked to point out the damage caused by the defendants and the damage caused by yourself. I’m sure the court will also be interested in why your slave boy was working the streets at age fifteen, without a minder, in contravention of the regulation that all prostitutes under twenty should work from their master’s home or a licensed brothel.”

Sosius looked uneasy. “This trial is not about me.”

“Tell the magistrate that, sir,” Val said indifferently. “I could offer 3000, I suppose, as a gesture of goodwill.”

Sosius was obviously ready to sell Syrianus, but had probably planned on feeding him up and holding back on the beatings to get a better price.

“As I said, sir, once I have bought him on behalf of my master we will not need to ask any more questions about Syrianus and his behavioural problems.”

“3500 _ses._ ,” Sosius said sulkily.

Val made a face.

“Above your authorized spending limit, are you, slave?” Sosius smirked, clearly glad to get one over on the uppity slave getting the better of him.

“Not at all, sir. My master’s goodwill extends to 3500 _ses._ ” And beyond, but Sosius didn’t need to know that.

He had the sale pages up and buyer and seller details filled automatically, but he could not find Syrianus in Sosius’s file. There were two slaves, Tarquin and Mus.

“Which one is Syrianus, Sir?” Val asked.

“Tarquin. I thought Syrianus was classier for the trade, but, what with the fee and the time it would take it was not worthwhile to change it officially.”

What a lovely attitude, Val thought, and it made him more anxious to get rid of him.

Sosius was not interested in the buyer and since the buyer was officially the Serene Caesar Augustus Val was glad. Sosius muttered in annoyance as he filled in the special declaration box regarding Syrianus’s whereabouts last night. Fortunately, Sosius had recorded his fingerprint to ease the purchase of slaves so Val didn’t have to fuss with ID and such; his own prints were of course in the system. Val held out the _tabula_ for Syrianus's fingerprint then he touched the screen and that was that: Syrianus belonged to the Imperial household.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir.” Val bowed again, but not quite as low as he had at the beginning.

Sosius pointed at Syrianus. “You, behave for this slave, he’s just bought you.” He glared at Val. “You’re a slick bastard. I don’t want to hear this slave’s name again, or yours.”

He jabbed his finger hard into Syrianus’s chest and stormed out the door. Val waited for a moment before checking to see that he had gone before punching the air. That arsehole was gone, gone, gone, and now he could take his time with the new slave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do with young rescued sex slaves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags. This world is not as fluffy as it might seem.

“Good riddance!” Val said, and turned to find Syrianus getting off the bed. “No, no, back on the bed, my dear.”

Syrianus bowed his head. “But you’re my master. I need to show my respect.”

He looked likely to fall off the bed and Val hastily ran over to gently push him back. The kid’s face screwed up; he was about to burst into tears.

“I’m not your master and I just want you to lie here,” Val said. He pulled a blanket up over the boy’s naked body and tucked it over his shoulders, leaning over him to look seriously into Syrianus’s eyes. “I want you to breath slowly and calm down. That will please me more than anything.”

Syrianus nodded, a tiny little jerk of his head. “Yes, sir.”

“My name is Valentine and you can call me Val,” Val continued. “I have a little job to do then we can have a talk. Oh, but are you hungry? I can’t see any note in your record of allergies, so, do you like peanut butter?”

“Yes, Val.” Syrianus, or Tarquin, or whatever he was called now, spoke softly and tentatively.

“Good. Do you see the button on the end of the cord by your pillow? Now press the white one, not the red because that calls the emergency team. Thanks.”

Val sat on the bed by the boy’s feet. As he expected, the door opened in an instant to admit a slave boy of about 10 years. He bowed politely to Val.

“How may I help you, Valentine?” The kid was too young to have been working here when Val had been admitted years ago after that fuss - that was five years ago now – but he’d obviously been briefed on who Valentine was.

“Tea for two,” Val said. “And, hm, four pieces of toast with butter and peanut butter. The good stuff, no added salt or sugar.” He hadn’t had a good breakfast and this would tide him over until lunch.

The slave boy looked mildly affronted. “We only stock the good stuff, Valentine. It will only be a few moments.”

He disappeared out the door and Val’s new acquisition watched the boy go. Val patted his feet.

“I need to call someone,” Val said, pulling out his phone and dialling while continuing to tap on his _tabulae_. “Pay attention, though, I may need your help.”

The poor kid just looked bewildered.

“Tullia?” Val said when she picked up the call. Tullia was horrible on the phone but it was still easier to talk to her than do all this by text. “I know, I’m terrible at keeping in touch. I blame Gaius. How’s the free world treating you?” He held the phone away from his ear. “Good, good. I thought so. Yes, I have a referral. A Sosius – I’m sending you the whole file now. I just bought the Tarquin you can see but Sosi’s going home right now to little Mus, who is 11, and darling Sosius will not be in a good mood. I have reasonable grounds for believing that a breach of SIPAS conditions, as promulgated by the Serene Gaius, is happening right now.”

Val listened to Tullia, then looked at Syrianus, etc. “Kid, where did you sleep?”

Syrianus startled. “Sorry, sir. We slept on the floor, mostly in the utility room, sometimes in the atrium, or wherever we would be out of the way.”

“No bed of your own?” Val asked.

Syrianus looked puzzled. “No, Val.”

“No bed, Tullia. It’s a pretty fucking minimal requirement, even for an apartment dweller. He could have converted a closet after all. Syrianus was sent out to flip his tunic at the Vitruvian Theatre and got involved in the fracas but I told the lovely Sosius that no questions would be raised about him so it will all have to be about Mus. Sosius is a pretty unpleasant customer so make sure whoever goes will have back up. Oh, you will go yourself? Brown noser! I’m sure you’ll find plenty of violations of the slave regulations, and Gaius is very keen to be obeyed right at the moment. I’ll send you the files now. Got them? Good, good. You’ll kick his ass. I’ll see you at the next SIPAS fundraiser. _Vale!_ ”

Val put the phone down and sent a message on his _tabulae_ to Josephus to send three aides to sort out the citizens and the plebeian family. He might as well deal with Syrianus himself.

Valentine turned to face Syrianus. He needed to go carefully here so as not to overwhelm the boy, but there were important issues to cover now.

“Before we go any further I’d like to sort out your name,” Val said. “Is there anything you’d like to be called?”

“My name will be as my master pleases, Val,” the slave boy said. He did not look up.

Val sighed. He’d already told the kid he wasn’t the master, but he’d go over that again later.

“I don’t give a damn what your name is. Only that you like it,” Val said. “You were registered with Arruns, that’s a nice Etruscan name, then when you were sold Bibulous your master changed it to Tarquin, another Etruscan name. Do you like Tarquin? You can go back to it, if you like. Or keep Syrianus, or go back to Arruns. Or something altogether new. It’s your best chance to do that now.”

The kid just looked at him, uncomprehending. It was going to take him some time to understand what Valentine was offering: choice.

“Do you like Tarquin?”

The boy looked puzzled. “I don’t know – Master Tibby called me Tarquin because he already had an Arruns. He liked the idea we were Etruscan. My next master never called me anything, well, slave or slut or _catamīte_. And my last master was the same. He thought it would be better for business if people thought I was from the east, not home grown, so Syrianus it was for the customers. As long as I have a name at all I’m happy.”

He shut his mouth then, maybe shocked that he’d said so much. Val wasn’t going to get much sense out of him for a while, until he trusted Val even a little bit.

“I tell you what – I’ll change your name to Arruns and if you want you can change it to anything else. But only the once, because it isn’t good for you to change your name so often. Now you can get used to having the same name.”

“Yes, Val,” Arruns said.

Val made the change in the database. “You really are the property of the Serene Emperor Augustus and you won’t be sold, unless perhaps you ask for it. I bought you with Augustus’s money, you aren’t a public slave. You’ll have to testify tomorrow or the next day but the court won’t hurt you.”

Arruns looked disbelieving, not a surprising reaction from a slave from his background.

“I can’t promise that you won’t be hurt again because no on can promise that,” Val said gently. “But you won’t be sent or sold where pain is required. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Val.” 

Clearly ‘Yes, Val’ was code for ‘not really’. Words would not get through to Arruns; he had gone far past being reassured by mere words, so actions and time would have to do their magic.

“I will make sure you are looked after.” When had he decided that? “I’ll call the doctor and get you out of here.”

Arruns perked up and smiled shyly at Val. That immediately made him look prettier. So that was good.

A knock on the door heralded the slave boy with a loaded tray. He put it on the invalid table.

“Can I offer you more help?” he asked.

“Yes. Ask the doctor to come.” Val waved him off. The boy winked at Arruns as he left but Arruns just kept his eyes down.

“Have some toast,” Val said.

Arruns waited until Val had taken a bite of his toast before picking up a piece and nibbling at it. Val poured them both a cup of tea. Arruns sniffed curiously at his before taking a sip.

“Have you drunk this before?” Val asked. Arruns shook his head. “It’s tea. Most of the tea we drink here comes from Sri Lanka or India.”

“Oh, I have drunk it,” the boy said. “I remember now we had it at Master Tibby’s sometimes because he didn’t like us drinking wine or coffee.”

“That was Tiberius Roscius Bibulous? He bought you when you were aged nine.” Val kept his voice light so as not to intimidate Arruns with his questions.

“Eight. I remember I had my ninth birthday with him. I think there was something funny with the money and the registration.” 

Arrun’s took another bite of toast and chewed slowly. Val thought he ate like someone who was familiar with the effects of starvation on the stomach.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Arruns said suddenly. “Because I was so young, before I started to grow. That’s what they call puberty, isn’t it, and you aren’t supposed to have sex before that starts. But he didn’t have sex with us, not really. Master Tibby liked to come to our room and play with us, I mean real games like cards, or outside with a ball, and mess around having fun. We did have fun. Master Tibby used to rub against us, sure, and it was gross at first but you got used to it. The worst thing was we were always being sold when we got too old. When we stated to grow.”

“But you lasted until were twelve and you must have started growing.”

Arruns grinned. “Yeah. I was careful and spent more time talking to Tibby and playing. That’s what he really wanted, to be a little boy, so I played that up. When he wanted to rub on me I could tell and I moved so he didn’t rub against my dick. My balls dropped, and that was all right, then my dick started to grow and the hair came in. I pulled that out. Master Tibby liked me, I think he helped by sort of letting me choose where he did the rubbing. But one day my dick got hard when he did it. It was like a switch flicked off in his head, and I was off for sale the next day.”

“You were a smart kid,” Val said. Bibulous was notorious for running through his little boy toys. Arruns had lasted longer than any of the others Val had heard of.

“Didn’t help me much with the next master,” Arruns said, and stuffed his mouth with toast.

The doctor arrived then, and said Arruns was fit to go.

“He’ll need medical care for a while yet,” the doctor said. “There’s nothing badly wrong. The bruises will probably heal without scarring, but his gut has been disturbed by malnutrition, he’s got mouth ulcers, little things that need watching. Where are you going to take him?”

That was the question. Val didn’t have time to look after Arruns, nor did he feel competent to help him with any of the emotional and behavioural issues likely to arise. He had never been involved in any hands on rescue – just promoted slave friendly legislation and regulation, and given some quiet back room support to SIPAS and some other reputable slave rescue organisations. There was only one place he knew that had good experience in helping rescued sex slaves.

“The Imperial Brothel,” Val said.

“Good,” the doctor said cheerfully. “You’ll be in good hands there, Arruns, is it? They know what they are doing.”

It was strange, as a slave, to see another slave slide on the bland expression saved for masters, and know that it was for you.

“Yes, sir,” Arruns said to the hands in his lap.

He was quiet after that. Val wrapped him in a blanket as he had no clothes other than the sorry excuse for a tunic, now ripped to shreds. The doctor insisted on a wheelchair because he wasn’t steady and the boy sat in it without comment. Val pushed him down to the secure garage where his car was waiting; there was another car there now which had presumably brought his staff over to work with the other victims.

“Thank you, Val,” Arruns said when Val opened the door to his car. The kid took a good look at the vehicle and got into the back seat very gingerly, apparently afraid to sit down on the soft leather. Val sat beside him wondering what to say.

“Where to, Valentine?” the driver asked. “The palace?”

“No, the Imperial Brothel at the Baths of Trajan.”

Arruns looked out the window at the drizzle as they drove through the streets and looked around the car itself. He did not look at Valentine.

“It’s not so bad, really,” Val said finally. “They’ll look after you there, get you well, teach you, and not just how to be a better sex worker. You’ll earn your purchase price there in a few years and have a very nice nest egg for your day of liberty, and when that comes you’ll also have a trade or a career. The punters are screened for disease and won’t hurt you and there is plenty of time to make friends with the other boys and girls. I think you’ll like it.”

“Yes, Val,” Aruuns said. “If you say so.”

He did sneak a look at Val then, but did not smile. Time, Val reminded himself, time, and kindness would bring back the smile.

It didn’t take long to get to the brothel, behind the Baths of Trajan. They drew up at the homely back entrance, the gates opening to allow the car in to park.

“Shall I wait?” the driver asked.

“Yes.” It would probably take as long to drive to the palace as to walk but Valentine did not want to get caught up with talking to people who might recognise him. “I won’t be long.”

From the small car park they could see to the playing field. There wasn’t much space left in Rome but this had been carved out for the boys and girls here. Val stayed close to Arruns in case he needed support as they made their way through the unimposing entrance to the reception desk.

“Hi-” Val looked at the name tag. The receptionists were always changing as this was a great position for secretarial job experience “Sabrina. This is Arruns. He’s coming to live here so I’d like to speak to an admissions officer.”

“Certainly. May I give them your name?”

“Valentine.”

She paged the doctor. “Doctor Eutherius, a Valentine is here with an admission.” She listened to his reply on her headphones. “The doctor will be here as soon as possible,” she said to Val.

Sabrina already had the bored delivery of an experienced receptionist down pat but she smiled kindly at Arruns. “Please sit down while you wait.”

Val pulled Arruns over to the chairs but the boy started to kneel.

“No, no.” Val pulled him up. “You don’t have to kneel all the time here. Plenty of free people work here but these are the back rooms of the brothel and it is all regarded as slave quarters. The staff will explain the policies on kneeling here later.”

Arruns perched himself tensely on the edge of the chair while Val sat back in expectation of waiting for the doctor. However, he arrived soon after the call, an energetic young man in his early thirties.

“Ah, the Valentine,” Eutherius said, extending his hand to Val. “I had a heads up that you were coming from the hospital.”

Today lots of free people wanted to shake his hand, which should make it a good day, but it was tedious to follow the social rules of the free. Maybe he made a face because Eutherius laughed. 

“No need to worry about the erosion of social class here. I’m _libertum_ myself, from the client programme of the Aurelii, so it is Quintus Aurelius Galen Eutherius. Manumitted just last year, in fact, so I’m doing an internship here before I head off for more study.”

“Well done, then,” Val said, and put his hand on Arruns’s shoulder. “This is Arruns. I purchased him from his less than conscientious master less than an hour ago, with Augustus’s money, and this seemed the best place for him. He’ll being testifying in court in the next day or so but we’ll arrange that closer to the time.”

Eutherius turned to Arruns with a smile. “Come with me, Arruns, I’ll have a look at you and your medical file and then we’ll get you a bed and a buddy to help you settle in. Say good bye to Valentine and let him get back to his work.”

Arruns shot Val a desperate glance. Last night the kid was attacked, taken to hospital, this morning sold and now to be left in this strange place. Val was the only connection between his old life and the new one being thrust on him.

“I’ve got a few more minutes before I have to get back,” Val said, sighing inwardly. He’d have to hustle when he left here. “If you don’t mind, doctor, I could come with Arruns and help him adjust.”

“Thank you, Val,” Arruns said, not smiling but looking a little less upset. 

He was looking at Val so missed the narrowed eyes of the doctor who did not look as pleased as Arruns.

“Of course,” Eutherius said pleasantly. “Come this way.”

They passed through the inner door into a plain corridor and down to an examination room. Eutherius patted the bed.

“Hop up here, Arruns, and I’ll have a look at those injuries.”

Arruns obeyed and unwrapped the blanket from his body. He divided his attention between the doctor and Val, nervously looking between them.

“That bruising will take some time to fade, and you won’t be doing anything until that is healed,” Eutherius said. “The cut on your lip will scar, but it will be hardly noticeable. I do need to examine your genitals – your cock and your anus-”

Eutherius wanted Val to leave, and Val started to stand.

“Thank you,” Arruns said suddenly, in a rush. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done, for me and Mus. I’m sorry I’ve been rude and ungrateful just now but-” He looked directly at Val. “I’ll be good, and be obedient. I’m sure I’ll like it here once I’m used to it.”

He was saying that for Val’s sake but Val didn’t think he believed his own words. Arruns was being abandoned in a place where eventually he would have to work as he had before, with people he didn’t know, and Val had promised to take care of him.

“This really is the best place for you,” Val said gently. “But I tell you what –I’ll see you at the court and I’ll come visit you here later and see how you are going. Would that be all right?”

“Oh, thank you for saying that,” Arruns said. 

He looked brighter, but not really happy. He didn’t believe Val, and from the frown on the doctor’s face he didn’t either.

“Look, I’ll put an alert on my _tabulae_ and that way it will remind me to come if I get busy.” Which I will, Val thought. He showed Arruns the alert and the boy pretended to understand how it worked. At least he genuinely smiled.

“So I’ll see you later. Look after Arruns, doctor. _Vale!_ ”

Val stood up, leaned down to kiss the boy’s forehead, and left the room. That family meeting would be over now and Gaius needed his help. And they still had to traipse through the streets of Rome to the Senate meeting. _Roma diis!_ The day had barely begun and he was already exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  _libertus, libertum_ (acc.) freedman, ex-slave
> 
>  _Roma diis_ Gods of Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Translations  
>    
>  _cohortes urbanae_ urban cohorts, which acted as a heavy duty police force, capable of riot control duties, while their contemporaries, the Vigiles, policed the streets and fought fires.
> 
> _scortum_ prostitute, male prostitute
> 
> _cēvetor_ someone who moves their haunches in a lewd or effeminate manner, from the verb _cēveo_ (my invention, I hope I got the Latin right!
> 
> _catamīte_ – the Latin pronounces this as four syllables, with the final 'e' being pronounced. The diacritic turns the 'i' into 'ee'. The vocative form of _catamītus_ which generally denotes the younger, receptive partner in a m/m relationship, and originally comes from the Latinised version of the name Ganymede.
> 
> _pecūlium_ = basically, pocket-money; the small earnings generally considered to be a slave's own money (even though technically a slave wasn't allowed to own anything, being a possession himself). In the ancient Roman world, slaves could save their _pecūlium_ up until they could buy themselves, purchasing their own freedom.  
>  A _quadrans_ is a bronze coin, the smallest denomination, approximately equivalent to 10 pence. The system was vaguely decimal anyway....  
>  4 quadrans = 1 as (approx. 40 pence)  
> 2 ½ asses = 1 _sestertius_ (silver) (The basic denomination for buying anything, very roughly equal to £1) _ses._  
>  4 sestertii = 1 denarius (£4)  
> 25 denarii = 1 aureus (£100)
> 
> _pēdīcō_ a passive homosexual" or "bum boy
> 
> _puer dēlicātus_ – delicate boy, pretty boy. The "exquisite" or "dainty" child-slave chosen by his master for his beauty as a "boy toy" and cast in the passive role of receiving anal penetration
> 
> _aedīlis_ commissioner of police, fire, markets, games
> 
> _verna_ A slave born in his master's house.
> 
> _Mus_ mouse
> 
> _tabulae_ tablet
> 
> SIPAS – _Societās Imperātōrium Prohibēre Atrōcitae Servīs_ which translates back to English as the Imperial Society (or Alliance) to Prevent/Prohibit/Hinder Cruelty/Brutality to Slaves. (Latin has a far smaller vocabulary than English, therefore words that are synonyms in English are often translated to the same word in Latin.)


End file.
